


warmth and comfort

by soft light (starryvin)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Light Angst, M/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 15:13:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20780660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starryvin/pseuds/soft%20light
Summary: McCree is attractive and friendly.He reminds Baptiste of someone he once knew.





	warmth and comfort

**Author's Note:**

> There can never be too much Baptiste content.
> 
> I feel like Baptiste and McCree would like each other. So, here ya go. Useless porn/fluff.

Baptiste only barely managed to stay quiet.

It wasn’t the _first_ time he’d used a long wait like this to engage in what Mauga had called _team building excercises_. He wasn’t a fan of fucking on a mission, but he was only human -- he had his needs.

McCree was quite good at addressing those. He knew what he wanted but wasn’t a selfish lover in any way. He was a calm presence and a reassuring top, his Midwestern drawl sending sparks down Baptiste’s spine. He was laid-back and self-assured, occasionally quite mischievous too.

And sometimes he reminded Baptiste of Mauga with a treacherous intensity.

Baptiste did not miss Mauga in any way. He knew that to be true. Rather, he only missed what Mauga had represented to him: safety, protection, a home to return to. Talon had been a hellish organization to work for, and yet Baptiste occasionally found himself brooding, thinking of how he could have stayed, could have just suppressed his moral compass and done what would have definitely been the safest bet -- just stayed in Talon, stayed in Cuerva’s squad, stayed with Mauga.

That must have been what drew him to McCree. The need for companionship after a long time alone, the promise of help and protection in exchange for protection and help. The simplicity of it all. The subtle feeling of _he gets it_.

”Mmm,” the man on his back hummed. Ana and 76 were just a small ways away and at any moment they might want a comm check and Baptiste wasn’t sure if he could make any noise that wasn’t a moan. By now he knew his new friends well enough to be sure that Ana would laugh about it for months on end -- and 76 would definitely shout at them until he was completely blue in the face.

But McCree didn’t seem to be in any hurry, so Baptiste wasn’t, either. They were well enough hidden anyway: the rooftop was secluded and the chance that someone would actually pass by at this time of night was laughably low.

”Shit, Augustin,” McCree mumbled into his ear. ”You’re so damn nice. Should have dicked you far earlier.”

It was so direct he couldn’t help but be reminded of Mauga once again. That was essentially what the man had said to him when they had finally fallen into bed together. Baptiste had laughed, then, drank up every compliment, desperate to find someone he fit with. Someone to trust, someone to live for. Mauga had promised him: if they stuck together, nothing would stop them (_hurt them_) anymore.

McCree’s metal hand came up to his chin, tipping his head up in a softly domineering gesture. It was familiar -- it was what Mauga liked to do. He would be less gentle and more pressure, thick fingers digging into Baptiste’s mouth and cheeks and jaw, and sometimes he’d spread his fingers and force his jaw to open or pull until the corners of Baptiste’s mouth split, and later he’d laugh and prod at bruises in full view of their team so that everyone knew, and Baptiste would be happy to be _had_.

But McCree only held him, metal hand warm and smooth as his fingers caressed softly. His other hand reached around, dug into Baptiste’s pants. Baptiste smothered a moan.

”Ain’t nobody gonna hear you except me,” McCree said, sounding breathless. And yet, he was still attentive, jerking Baptiste off with a purpose and a gentleness not hinted at by his rough mien. ”Ana’s never been the type to let Morrison micromanage.”

”Just afraid I’ll call out the wrong name,” Baptiste said. _It’s funny because it’s true._ McCree laughed and his metal hand trailed down until he was holding Baptiste by his shoulders, pulling him up onto his knees, pressing them together as tightly as their light armour would allow.

”Wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened to me,” he said. Baptiste grabbed McCree’s arm, throwing his head back. McCree’s silly hat had been knocked off a long time ago and his hair was absolutely free to tickle Baptiste’s cheek. Suddenly, Baptiste was surrounded by his scent: tobacco, sweat, undertone of plain soap. He had to squirm and moan as McCree thrusted up into him, jostling him with every move.

McCree chuckled and kissed him just behind his ear. Then he grunted, groaned, and Baptiste could tell he was coming by the change in the rhythm. He groaned as well and McCree mumbled something into his skin, pumping his cock in time with the thrusting. The weight of Baptiste's own orgasm hit him hard, made him fall back onto all fours and gasp Jesse’s name despite his jokes, and McCree murmured into his ear: ”Good man.”

That just made him squirm more, the tickle of the man’s tobacco-smelling breath on the hypersensitive skin of his neck.

McCree pulled out slowly, took a moment to massage Baptiste’s lower back, and then pulled away completely. Baptiste sighed and pushed himself up, stretching a little before he pulled his pants back up and glanced at McCree standing up and tossing the condom down from the building. The man didn’t seem to be in any hurry, dick still chubby and hanging out of his pants. Baptiste stood and sized up on the man, lips catching on his stubble and then pecking his lower lip, hands gently tucking the man’s dick back into his pants.

”Your belt buckle is still ridiculous,” he said. McCree groaned and kissed him hard, making a few last sparks of arousal tickle his spine.

”And your crap opinion on my badass belt buckle is still crap,” McCree said then, tapping his cheek. Then he grabbed his serape off a vent he’d discarded it on and draped it onto Baptiste’s armoured shoulders. ”At least we agree on scarves and shit.”

Baptiste laughed, low and easy, and kissed McCree once more before retreating, taking the serape with him.

”Speaking of which, my friend, this is mine now,” he announced. ”Want it back? Catch me.” And he dashed off, a warm feeling of satisfaction blooming in his chest at the spluttering curse from behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> [on another rooftop]  
Ana: I swear, Jack. They have to be fucking.  
Jack: They’re. Just. Talking.  
Ana: You know what Jesse is like. They’re fucking, I’d bet my life on it.  
Jack: McCree, sure, but not every thirty-something is like him. Baptiste is a good kid, he wouldn’t--  
Ana: ...Oop, there goes the condom.  
Jack: WHAT


End file.
